Argus' Sky
by whitetiger91
Summary: A pilot in a fighter plane was much better than any wizard on a broom, and Argus can't wait to dominate the skies when he's older. After all, the Muggle world was better, cooler... safer.


_**This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round Three. **_

_**House: Gryffindor**_

_**Class subject: DADA**_

_**Story category: Standard**_

_**Additional requirement: Standards must be written in the past as a backstory or origin story, rather than a flashback. Five points added if theme is used correctly.**_

_**Prompt:** **3\. [Character] Argus Filch**_

_**Word count: 2491 (Google docs)**_

_**Beta: White Eyebrow, secretfanficlover**_

_**Extra: Squibs (like Umbridge's brother) only have to have one wizarding parent, not necessarily be Pureblood. Filch's birth isn't given in canon, so it's plausible he'd have been a child during 'The Blitz' period of WWII. **_

* * *

**Argus' Sky**

_**Argus didn't care that his mother thought Hogwarts was safe; if he couldn't do magic, he didn't want to know about it.**_

"No post for you today, sweetie."

Argus jumped, his cheeks burning. He'd been watching his father read the mail, hoping that a special letter was there for him.

He stared at the table, ashamed that his mother had caught him looking. "So? I don't care."

His mother smiled and ruffled his short brown hair. "I'm sure it'll come. I wonder if perhaps the owl got caught up in all this war nonsense? I've heard the Germans are training eagles to take out messenger pigeons, and if you think about it, owls really aren't that different…"

His father grunted but didn't need to say anything. They all knew no letter was coming; the Hogwarts Express had already left the station months earlier.

Swatting away his mother's fussing hands, Argus hopped off his chair. "I'm going outside to explore. I may as well get used to living like a Muggle," he said, leaving the tiny kitchen.

"Come back! It's too dangerous out there!"

The brunet ignored his mother as he pulled on his wellingtons by the front door. The Muggle world was no more dangerous than the wizarding world; with both worlds involved in separate wars, he fared more chance with his mother's kind than those who possessed wands.

"Let him go, Moira," his father said.

"I don't care what the rules are, Bernard; he'll be safer at Hogwarts! It's bad enough that bombs are falling, but from what you've told me, that Grindelwald fellow seems dangerous. Surely we can convince Headmaster Dippet to pretend he's not a Squib for a year?"

Argus didn't want to hear any more; he stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. It was true that he'd hoped his mother could get him into the school, but his father had been right; he didn't belong at Hogwarts, and he never would.

He trudged down the streets of Poplar, his hands in his pockets. He passed soldiers in their neat uniforms and shopkeepers peddling their wares—stockings for a 'low' ten Pounds, respirators, and siren suits—but no one paid any mind to him.

Sighing, he looked up at the clear blue sky. His pale eyes soon spotted a dark speck in the sky, getting steadily closer. He shielded his eyes from the sun, squinting as he tried to keep it in view. Was it an owl? No, it was too big. Maybe it was a broomstick escort coming to take him to Hogwarts, where he really should've been all along?

As the object grew closer, a roar thundered through the sky. Filch's heart leapt as he realised that it wasn't a broom, but a Muggle plane. It seemed to travel much faster than a broomstick, and it looked powerful...

A deafening wail ate up the engine's roaring, growing louder as the plane grew closer. People around him shouted and ducked into the nearest buildings, their hands covering their heads. Argus heard the muffled cry of the shopkeeper closest to him and turned towards him. The balding man beckoned to him, pointing from the sky to the large building behind his newspaper stand.

His heart raced. He knew he should follow the man, but he found himself rooted to the spot. All he could do was shrug. The man hesitated before running into the building.

Argus turned his gaze back to the sky, his heart still thudding as the jet soared over him. It was definitely better than a broom. He could imagine that the person inside felt great exhilaration as he soared around, dominating the sky. He'd only ever flown on a broom once—to his father's disappointment, he'd fallen off—but looking at the plane, he couldn't fathom ever falling out of the sky.

_If he couldn't be a wizard, perhaps he could be something better…_

The jet passed over the city, becoming a speck in the distance again. It took the sirens with it, and slowly, people crept back into the streets. The old man came ambling up to him.

"Are you daft, boy? You could've been killed!" he shouted, his peppery-grey moustache twitching.

Argus simply grinned as new hope spread through him.

* * *

"Hmmm, Grindelwald has gathered momentum in Norway. I wonder if Durmstrang is secretly supporting him?"

His father turned a page of _The Daily Prophet_ so that the cover now faced Argus. Gellert Grindelwald's pale, scarred face stared at him, a maniacal grin on his face. The eleven-year-old suppressed a shudder, wondering if Hogwarts really did offer protection against the man. He turned back to his breakfast, glad that the crazed blond was elsewhere in Europe.

"I doubt anyone with a right mind would support a man like that," his mother said.

"Durmstrang is a school, not a person," his father said, "and you can bet they do."

Argus could sense another argument coming, and he quickly slipped out of the kitchen. He didn't care that other magical schools existed, and therefore more possibilities to learn magic; he had something much better. He was out the front door before his mother had even noticed he'd gone.

Argus strolled down Burcham Street, his eyes trained on the sky. A few grey clouds drifted across it, but not so many that he wouldn't be able to spot any planes. He crossed his fingers, hoping one would appear soon.

"Oi! Watch out!"

Something heavy collided with him, knocking him to the ground. Scowling, he looked up, finding a group of boys crowded around him. A sandy-haired boy with a smattering of freckles across his nose was sprawled out in front of him.

"Sorry, mate," he said, jumping up and proffering a grubby hand.

The brunet glared at it for a moment, but with several pairs of expectant eyes on him, he took it. "Thanks," he muttered, getting up.

The boy smiled at him, showing off crooked teeth. "The name's Danny," he said, turning to the other boys, "and this is Johnny, Emmett, and Thomas."

"I'm Argus Filch," he said, quickly dropping his hand.

Danny placed his hands in his scruffy short's pockets. "So, you're one of us then, huh?"

He frowned, not liking the boy's assumption that he was a Muggle. "Not really…"

"It's nothin' to be ashamed 'bout. None of our parents sent us to the country, either; don't care if we're safe or not."

"Oi! Speak for yourself. Me Ma'am just doesn't want to be alone since Papa left," the shortest boy said.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Apart from Emmett." He leaned in and whispered, "His father died in France."

Argus wasn't sure what to say. Whilst his mother kept harping on about sending him to Scotland, his father didn't care what happened to him. It was hard to sympathise with the younger boy.

"We're heading to the docks. Wanna come?" Danny asked.

He peered up at the sky again, hoping to see a plane. Only clouds gently moved across it, though, and with a shrug, he nodded at the boys.

He followed them through the various streets, his eyes darting from the posters plastered all over the shop fronts—unmoving pictures of soldiers that implored Britons to work 'Together' to win the war—to the empty sky. Eventually, they made it to the wharf, which was full of bustling people.

Hundreds of men and women crowded the area, bidding each other farewell with a mixture of excitement and fear. The group of boys ran up to an army truck waiting to board a ferry. A handsome man was leaning against it, dragging smoke from a cigarette.

"Hello boys," he said, flicking the cigarette to the ground. "Care to join us?"

"Can we?"

The soldier chuckled, ruffling Emmett's red hair. There was a sparkle in his blue eyes that made Argus want to follow him wherever he went, but it was the man's eagle badge on his blue-grey uniform that really sent his heart beating—he was a member of the Royal Air Force.

"I'm afraid we'll have ended the war by the time you're old enough."

"Oh." Danny kicked the ground. Then, his eyes lit up as he spotted something behind the man. "Check that out!"

The boy ran over to a table covered in sticks. An older soldier with an eyepatch sat behind it. As the other boys joined him, he pointed to a sign that said, 'practice for your little soldier.'

Argus stayed with the blond. "Where's your plane?"

The man took another cigarette from the packet in his breast pocket. "See that ship there?" Argus squinted, spotting a large, grey ship on the far horizon. "It's on that."

"Can anyone fly a plane?" he asked, turning back to him.

"Sure, with a bit of training." He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and fished around in his pocket. Pulling out a round brass item, he gave it to Argus. "Here, kid; we've got loads of these. Don't give up on your dreams."

He watched as the man donned his hat and got into the truck. The boys came running back over, making _Rrrr ererer_ sounds as they pretended to shoot each other with their 'machine gun' sticks. They tried to get him to join in, but he brushed them off, staring at the soldier's gift. It had little hinges, and with a quick flip, he opened it to reveal a compass.

"Cool!" Danny said, leaning over his shoulder.

"Very," Argus replied, staring at the tiny needle swivelling around.

* * *

"Will you stop clicking that? I can't hear the news."

Argus rolled his eyes as his father pressed his ear to the wireless. He didn't know why the man bothered. It was the same information that played over and over again all week: Grindelwald gaining more followers, more people being murdered—blah, blah, blah. When he thought about it, the wizarding world really was quite boring.

He clicked the compass shut, pulled his knobbly knees up to his chest, and stared out the bay window. The street outside was pitch-black, no lights visible in the surrounding houses. His father had refused to turn their own lights off, telling them that the spells he'd placed on the house would keep them safe from any feeble Muggle bombings. His mother had told him that wasn't the point of the government's request, but he'd refused to listen.

Just as he turned his eyes to the sky, the familiar wailing of sirens filled the air again, just like they had every night that week. Whilst his father grumbled about having to cast a spell to quell the noise, Argus pressed his nose to the glass. He could see a dozen blinking lights high up, drawing closer.

He clutched the compass, grinning as the planes lit up the sky with tiny red lights. It looked like spells shooting back and forth. One of the red lights hit a plane coming from the other direction, and in a large ball of orange, it disappeared from view.

_It was magical._

"Argus, come away from the window," his mother said.

He ignored her, imagining that he was flying one of the planes. He lost track of them momentarily as they flew over the house, but no sooner did he get up to chase them to the other window, they reappeared. He could no longer hear the sirens, but one by one, he was able to see the planes drop larger, yellow lights to the ground.

His mother walked over, ripping the curtains closed, just as the ground shook a little. "That's it, I'm contacting your sister, Bernard. We'll stay with her, or with her lovely neighbour—what's her name? Mrs Borris? Norris?"

Argus sighed, annoyed that she'd destroyed his fun. Remembering what the soldier had told him, he resumed playing with his compass, promising himself he'd follow his dreams.

* * *

Early the next morning, before his parents were even up, Argus left the house and headed straight for the place the planes had been hovering over. Several Red Cross trucks passed him, but he paid no attention to them.

His friends were already gathered around a former warehouse that was now nothing more than rubble. Dust and large pieces of metal were scattered around the area. It appeared no one else had gotten to it yet, and it filled him with excitement to see the power the planes truly had; he couldn't imagine someone on a broomstick being able to cause that much destruction.

"Did you see the action last night?" he asked them.

Emmett scowled. "Nah, me ma'am made me stay in the basement."

The other boys all nodded. Danny jumped over a pile of bricks, holding the stick he'd received from the soldier the week before. He began jabbing it at the ruins, before stopping and pointing it at a pile of rubble a little way away.

"Who cares? Look at that!" Danny said, grinning. He ran over to the charred remains of something big, and the boys chased him.

"Cool!" they chorused.

They began walking around, pulling out bits of broken metal. Argus followed them, his stomach churning. Deep red drops could be seen amongst the debris, and as he carefully stepped over one particularly large piece of metal, he was sure he was going to be sick.

There, sticking out from another pile of bricks, was a pale arm. He wasn't sure if it was attached to a body, but as he bent down, he saw that the hand was clutching something made of brass.

"Awesome! I bet he was one of theirs," Danny said, poking at the arm with a stick.

The world began to spin beneath his feet as he clutched his own compass. It couldn't have been a pilot; they were invincible, safe—_powerful_. How could someone so cool be killed?

"Stop that!" he shouted. "I-I'll have you arrested!"

"Why? You scared?" Danny chuckled. He called the other boys over, who also began prodding the pilot.

Although his clothes were clean, it suddenly felt like they were stained with blood. Argus looked around at the broken pieces of metal, realising that they were likely parts of a plane. His stomach churned again as the boys continued laughing.

_But the pilot was so much better than a wizard on a broom..._

"Where're you goin'?"

Argus had dropped the compass, turned on his heel, and ran. He needed to get clean. His heart thundered inside his chest, and his leg muscles protested, but he didn't stop running until he reached his house. He burst through the door and ran straight to his mother.

"I've been wondering where you—what happened?"

He buried his head in her chest, tears streaming down his face. "I want to go to Hogwarts. It's not safe here."

"Shh…" she said, running her hand through his hair.

_**Argus didn't care if he couldn't do magic; he'd get to Hogwarts, away from the blood, away from war, no matter what it took. **_


End file.
